Journals of a Psychopath

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Lady Flarice's pain is just beginning.

The Purifiers and the Darkest-One

Smithson nailed the silver shield to the Tree and raising the sword the silver shield mirrored our forms. Lifting her robe, my manhood was exposed. Infiltrating her honeyed-place and a flash of lightening flared across the heavens. Scanning, Lady Flarice’s vision-disks reflected her terror. Slithering from her and I elevated the sword.
      “No,” the Lady Flarice cried.
Smithson inspected with relish the tune in my mind a sexual melody and my heartbeat was unnaturally fast. I entered again the man-milk was ready to erupt.
      “This is what I was born to do and I have taken Lady Flarice as her Knight.”
Still inside her and I ripped one side of Lady Flarice’s face open, I saw the pattern on that side of her face disintegrate, the Lady Flarice screamed, Smithson gawped and his sight-orbs similar to two round moons. I passed him the sword, Smithson gouged an eye from Lady Flarice, and consigned it in the same box Alexia's orb had been located.

The Pit Stop

Perry delivered me a disapproving look and I smirked at him.
      “How is Rheanna? Did the funeral go okay?”
      “We gave Caldwell a good send off.”
Jayne rushed in and Perry rolled his eyes, she came over to me, and snuggled up.
      “Are you coming to mine Clarkson?”
      “Yes, in a while.”
Rhea stumbled in and she was dressed in dirty clothes, she held a bottle of liquor, Rheanna’s hair was tangled. Rhea pointed to Jayne and Jayne did not mind, she stared compassionately, Rhea sat down lifted the bottle to her lips and she drank greedily.
      “I hate you Jayne,” Rheanna said.
      “Well I used to abhor you too, but Clarkson has moved away from you just as I knew he would.”
Rheanna was upset and she began to cry.
      “This has been going on for years just end it with her she will get over it,” Perry said.
      “Please do not tell him to do that? He might do it and I still want him.”
Perry narrowed his eyes, but he did not respond and he should know Rhea would never let me go.

Blackclaw Woodlands

Lady Flarice struggled on the altar and her eyeless socket was disgusting, I stitched her face with black yarn. Perusing her with hawk-eyes and shivering Lady Flarice begged for mercy. Smithson lowered to her, he was attired in the pure white silk robe, I watched, as he snatched the sword. Lady Flarice’s eyeless socket gaped and it was black, her face was lit up by the roaring flames, the Lady Flarice was no longer beautiful, now no man would desire her. Smithson grabbed her hand and it was dainty he tied it to the block, looming over, her and she hit him with the other hand, he laughed. Severing her hand and the sounds coming from Lady Flarice’s mouth tortuous, he tossed it on the firestorm she studied, as it was devoured by the flames. Burning her wrist with a branch from the conflagration and it was cauterized. Smithson handed me the sword, I slashed the other side of her face, she screamed. The design disappeared. Wrapping the pure white silk bandage around the stump and Smithson pulled it tight, and the Lady Flarice touched the hole in her face with the other hand.
Darning the other side of Lady Flarice’s face and the jagged stitches stark, the black yarn dragged through her skin.
“Sir Clarkson please I will change do not wound me again?”

The Farmstead

Elspeth was worried, she rushed in and told us Rheanna was slumped on the kitchen floor, a bottle of vodka, and some sleeping pills were scattered near her. Smithson rang for the ambulance and Rheanna was taken to the hospital, but it was too late, she died. The funeral was a mockery, Caldwell's old friends came the numbers were staggering, but not one truly cared about Rheanna, only Elspeth mourned for her. She was a sad figure swaying by the graveside, and her chest moved up and down with grief.

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